by William King
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Weasel. The man noticed him at the same time and give him a salute with some of the old mockery in it. A servant came and led him into the drawing-room where the paintings he remembered from the old days had been replaced with new ones from Asea’s treasure trove of artefacts. The lady herself was waiting for him along with Rik and Tamara.
“Captain Sardec,” said Asea. “It is a great pleasure to see you once more.”
Sardec was suddenly aware of his new epaulettes. There were still times when he felt like he was wearing them under false pretences and this was one of them. He smiled at Asea and then at Tamara and then Rik.
Tamara was dressed in the full Court finery of a Terrarch noblewoman. The long blue dress suited her very well. She looked more like a guest than a prisoner and Sardec supposed that was what she really was. The war between Talorea and Sardea had petered out as both nations needed their troops to deal with the threat of the walking dead who had gone completely out of control once Asea had closed the Askander Gate. Officially they were still at war but their troops had yet to meet on a battlefield since Azaar’s defeat at the Battle of Weswood. There were rumours that both sides were negotiating in secret. With the Empress dead it looked like there was the possibility of Queen Arielle becoming the ruler of both nations. Such a stabilising influence was going to be needed, for politically much had changed in the past few years.
All manner of rumours abounded concerning the plague. The tale had gotten about that the disease had been engineered by Terrarchs in an act of genocide against the human race. Rebellion was far closer than it had been in many a year throughout all the Terrarch realms because of this.
“You seem to be in good spirits,” said Rik.
“As do you,” said Sardec although it wasn’t quite true. Rick still looked thin and very unhealthy. There were shadows beneath his eyes and his face looked bony. There was an intensity in his gaze that was unsettling. He should have looked happier, Sardec thought. After all, he had been accepted into one of the greatest Houses in all of the realm. His patron was powerful enough to ensure that now. No one cast aspersions on his birth any more.
“When do you leave?” Tamara asked.
“Tomorrow,” Sardec said. “I join the Seventh. Under Lord Azaar again. We’re off to put down more of the walking dead and help free Kharadrea once more.”
He couldn’t quite keep the irony from his voice. He wondered if they would be any more welcome this time than they had been the last time. He hoped so. Rumour had it that Prince Khaldarus was gone, killed by the walking dead.
“I wish you luck of your new command,” said Asea. Sardec thanked her. He was sincere about it. He had tried to find a way to express his gratitude to her for closing the Gate and had never succeeded in doing it to his own satisfaction. It appeared that her sorcery was what had saved him that night at the ruined farm. Somehow she had disrupted the spell that kept the undead under control and granted them a limited intelligence. After she had closed the Gate they had become mindless and hostile even to each other.
He wanted to believe that that was the only reason he was here but he knew he would be deceiving himself if he thought that. He was a career officer now and she was the most powerful woman in the realm after the Queen. He had a connection to her and reminding her of that was his real purpose in coming here. He knew that Asea appreciated that when she presented him with an Elder Sign as a parting gift.
As he placed it around his neck he knew he was announcing that he was a partisan of her party and he did not mind that. If someone had to be in power in the realm, and someone always did, he was glad it was her. As he strode out of the Palace, he smiled. Rena was waiting for him and that thought made him happy.
From the balcony of Asea’s tower, Rik looked down on the night time city. He had a fine view of the river and the Pit. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had met Rena there and become involved in Weasel’s plot to sell the ancient grimoire they had found in Achenar back to the Prophet Zarahel. He had not even known Asea in those days although he was soon to make her acquaintance.
In those days he had been a private soldier, unaware of his deadly heritage, unsuspecting of the part he would play in the future of the realm. As the voices whispered in his skull, it all seemed like a much more innocent time to him. He had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams in achieving his ambitions from those days. He was rich. He was a sorcerer of power, familiar with magic that not even Lady Asea had mastered. He had climbed out of the gutter and touched the stars he had reached for and he still was not entirely happy. He wondered if it was even possible now for him to be so.
There were times when he wished that he had never learned those secrets and had never become familiar with the practice of magic. There were times when he wished that he could be anonymous again. High Inquisitor Joran sometimes visited. Although he was affable he gave Rik strange looks, as if he suspected Rik indulged in forbidden practices. For the moment, Asea was too powerful for the Inquisitor to do anything about those suspicions but things had a way of changing. If he had learned anything, it was that there was nothing certain in Terrarch politics.
He supposed he should be grateful that he was still alive. There had been times during the long trip back from Askander when he had doubted that he would survive. The ship had carried them all the way to Harven and there had been a nerve-wracking period when it had taken all of Tamara and his skills to get them out of the seaport city. It had taken a great deal more effort to get them across the undead haunted lands and back to where the Talorean army waited. Since then he had lived very quietly. He had studied magic under the tutelage of both Asea and Tamara and he had learned a great deal.
He knew that sometime soon he was going to be called upon to use those spells and skills that he had learned. Things were changing in Terrarch realms. The humans were restless. The Terrarchs were uncertain. Rumours of what Xephan and his clique had planned circulated and many of the more progressive Terrarchs had been appalled.
Even those who secretly approved of that mad scheme claimed to be. It was unsafe to do anything else with Asea in the ascendancy.
If she called upon him to assassinate her enemies he would do it and not just because he owed her a great debt. He would do it because he agreed with her and he felt that those enemies were worth removing. He had finally reached a place from which he could change the world. The path that had led him there was a long one and a strange one. There were times when he wondered whether the Shadow had touched him after all when he thought so casually of murder. It was always possible. The Shadow worked in subtle ways; he had experience of that.
All he could do was his best. He could try and make the world a better place for humans because he was on their side and because they were the majority and deserved better than they had got so far. If that was the work of the Shadow then so be it. He smiled.
He lived in interesting times.
THE END
About the Author
Aeons ago seeking a better life than that offered as a dole claimant under the gloomy skies of his grim northern homeland, Bill King fled south to the ancient, daemon haunted metropolis of Nottingheim.
Amid its narrow alleys and fog-shrouded streets, he stumbled into the unhallowed precincts of the Low Pavement Studios of the Workshop of Games where he was initiated into the blood-stained mysteries of the Adeptus Scriptorum.
After years of grueling toil amid the clatter of the great Script Engines, he clambered to the position of Scribe Third Class With Very Occasional Responsibility for Game Development. Driven mad by the endless perusal of forbidden books he took flight, passing through the fleshpots of South East Asia and Stranraer till he eventually came to rest in the doomed city of Prague, from which he makes occasional forays into the great world beyond.
The sound of buckets of six-sided dice being thrown onto baize covered tabletops haunts his dreams still.
Bill King is the author of over 20 novels, a
n Origins Award winning game designer, husband, father and player of MMOs. His short stories have appeared in Interzone and Years Best SF. He lives in Prague, Czech Republic.
His website can be found at www.williamking.me
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
About the Author
